


the night before the end

by vintagedean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Car Sex, Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:49:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29528055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintagedean/pseuds/vintagedean
Summary: fill for the following tumblr prompt:"not much of a prompt but anything with pining!dean (and john, if you want—but i’m really asking for dean lol) :p"i don't know if i met this request or not. i'm not sure what a pining dean looks like, so i hope this will suffice, and i'm very sorry if it doesn't!
Relationships: Dean Winchester/John Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	the night before the end

**Author's Note:**

> this does not take place in the same verse as "what do we call" jsyk. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr @vintagedean!

When John left on that hunting trip, Dean had tried not to take it personally. He had thought they’d grown past abandonment in the years after Sam’s dramatic exit, thought they’d grown _into_ whatever the fuck kind of relationship they now shared. Even if it didn’t have a name--their shared touches, their lingering looks, those rare nights spent on a single bed when that was “all the motel had left,” putting John at Dean’s back and grinding wordlessly against Dean’s ass--it was theirs, and it felt good. It made them closer than they’d ever been while Sam was there, and so when John had first gone, Dean had had to work hard not to feel like it was his fault. At the time, he’d thought that they were working. 

He accepts, with time, that they must not have been. At first, he doesn’t let himself think too much about where John might be or what he might be doing. He keeps busy with his own hunts, keeps his eyes and ears open for cases or news. But John never sends any signs, and eventually Dean can only stand the ensuing radio silence for so long before he makes his way to Sam. He’s frustrated by it, certainly. Worried by it, absolutely. But mostly, he’s hurt. John leaving on a hunting trip without Dean is one thing. He has a framework for that built on years of past experience as a kid. But John leaving and going completely dark for so long--now that has him at his wits’ end. He wants to find him, and he needs help. He’s also lonely, so he wants Sam. 

Having Sam back in his life is good. It helps. Dean loves his little brother, and he loves hunting with him, but he misses John like a limb, like a tangible part of himself. Sam isn’t a replacement, no matter how much he steps up, no matter how good it is to have him back in Dean's life, and Dean still finds himself counting the days and then the weeks and then the months without his father, until he’s too discouraged to continue. He loses track of the time without John, the time spent with this ache in his chest for him, and tries to shift his focus to not letting Sam see it. But it’s hard, especially after Dean’s brush with death. It’s hard to know John wouldn’t show, even for that. Or for the haunting of his childhood home.

So when John finally does show up, Dean’s feelings war with one another. There’s relief, first. Anger, second. Gratitude somewhere after that, mixed in with a stark, deep arousal. John takes him in his arms for the first time in months, and Dean just breathes him in. Sweat and cheap deodorant. Alcohol and gun oil. He wants to kiss him, though they’ve never done that before, and they certainly wouldn’t start now. But something in John’s eyes when they pull back sets Dean on fire, and he swallows through the dryness in his mouth. Fuck, he’s missed him. 

He thinks, sometimes, he's still missing John, even though he's right there before him. His mind starts racing with all the ways he wants to touch John now that he’s back, to confirm he's really here and not a figment of some waking dream. And Dean starts fixating on all the ways he wants to _feel_ John, Sam be damned. He thinks about pressing himself against John, about twining their fingers. About caressing his hair. But their time together is cut too short by Meg and the daeva, and before Dean can come to terms with having John back in the flesh, he’s gone again. 

The second time he sees John, though, is different. Hunting with him again is a thrill, and Dean can’t keep his eyes off the shift of his father’s muscles under his shirts, thighs straining against the faded denim of his pants. He tracks John’s hands as they sharpen his knives and hold his food and put on his socks. Dean watches John whenever he can, afraid he’s going to blink and find John gone again. He’s convinced he’s going to lay his head down to sleep and wake up to John gone in the night, like a ghost. But it doesn’t happen; John agrees to stay after the Elkins case and the vampires. To help them hunt the demon. Sam bitches at him as always, like maybe John getting gone wouldn’t be such a bad thing, and Dean gets back into the practice of biting his tongue. Sam and John argue constantly, the two butting heads like billy goats while Dean tries to keep them all together, keep himself from falling apart, and he doesn’t feel there’s room to breathe until the first time things get bad enough for Sam to storm out, like the good old days. 

He leaves John alone in the room with Dean, and Dean watches him go with a sigh. He turns back to look at John, who already has his eyes trained on Dean.

“Some things never change,” says John, holding Dean’s gaze.

“I don’t know about that,” Dean says with a weak laugh. “He’s a man now.”

John snorts. “Is he? Seems like you’re still playing mother hen.”

Dean swallows, and his eyes finally drop down and away from his father’s. 

“Shit, Dean,” mutters John. “I can’t help but fuck things up with the both of you.”

“It’s okay,” Dean says quickly. He stutters towards John, taking one step and then stopping, aborting the movement. He wants to touch again.

“Come here,” says John gruffly. “Let me look at you.”

Dean makes himself move again, only stopping when he’s in front of John. He watches as John’s eyes scan his body, up and down. Up and down. 

“That old jacket’s still too big for you,” John murmurs. “Don’t know why you wear it.”

“It smells like you,” Dean says without hesitating, the truth spilling out. “I missed that.”

John looks up at him. They hold each other’s gaze for an unknowable number of seconds. Then John looks away. 

“Don’t know why,” he says. “I fucking stink.” He stands, heaving into Dean’s space and then pushing past it. He grabs his wallet, phone, and keys from the table. “I’m going out.”

Dean watches him go wordlessly, feeling once again like he’s done something wrong. With both Sam and John gone, leaving Dean behind, he has a hard time not feeling like he’s fucked up. He’s been trying to hold their fucked little family together, but here he is again alone. He’s tired of people leaving him. 

An hour later, Sam still isn’t back, and Dean’s ready to tear his hair out. It had been just before 9:00 p.m. when Sam had left, and just after when John had. Dean knows they agreed to start fresh the next morning, but he hadn’t thought he’d be spending their only free night by himself at the motel. He thinks about leaving himself, but when gets right down to it, he doesn’t really want to go out. He’s not interested in being around people who aren’t Sam or John. So Dean plunks himself down into a chair, throws his head back, and groans into the empty room. He hopes one of the other Winchester men will make their way back sooner rather than later. 

Sam is first, which doesn’t surprise Dean. He walks into the room, avoiding Dean’s eyes as he heads for the bathroom. 

“Look who it is,” Dean says sourly. “What have you been up to?”

“Shut it, Dean,” Sam says as he steps into the bathroom and unzips his fly, pushing the door partway closed behind him. 

“I’m just saying. You missed a _real_ party while you were gone.”

Sam comes back out and snorts. “Yeah? Where’s Dad?”

Dean scowls. “Took off right after you. Probably drunk in some slut’s arms now.”

He's bitter, bitter, bitter. 

Sam shakes his head. “I’m glad we got him back, but--”

“He’s still Dad,” Dean finishes. 

He doesn’t really know if John is fucking some bitch he found at a bar or not. He’d stopped that, mostly, after Sam had left. Those nights he would have found himself a warm body to bang, he’d taken to spending with Dean, humping against him in bed with one hand pressing into Dean’s cock through his boxers, the other covering Dean’s mouth. Dean thinks about John sliding his cock in and out of some strange woman in the bed of his truck and feels his throat tighten. Feels jealousy on his skin like a wool coat, hot and itchy. 

“What’s eating you?” Sam says, interrupting Dean’s pity party. “He dig into you too?”

“No,” says Dean. “I know better than to give him a reason.”

Sam’s smile is hollow. “Right.”

Dean sighs and shuts his eyes. They both know John never really _needs_ a reason. “I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m just...”

Sam offers a matching sigh. “Tired of this shit, I know. So am I.”

They end up on one of the beds, facing the shitty TV. There are _Golden Girls_ reruns on, and they sit and watch together. Dean laughs at the appropriate moments, hoping that’s enough for Sam, but his mind is elsewhere, thoughts only on John. He and John would do this sometimes, after Sam left. Watch old TV episodes on a bed together, leaning into one another with a beer in their hands. He can’t stop thinking about John sleeping with someone else, can’t stop wondering if he’s going to make it back that night, or spend his time with some barfly, instead, like Dean’s not waiting--

He catches himself. He stops the thought, slams a metal door on it, locking it out. He tells himself he isn’t going to think about John Winchester again. Which is, of course, when he gets the calls.

“Come get me,” says John, voice loose. Tipsy, but not drunk. 

“Where are you?” asks Dean, getting off the bed. 

“Bar down the street,” says John. “Called Mickey’s.”

“On it,” answers Dean, and then he shuts the phone. He looks at Sam as he puts on his jacket. “Gonna go pick up Dad.”

“Drunk as a skunk,” scoffs Sam. “Surprise surprise.”

But Dean isn’t all that sure. John’s been drinking, he knows that. But he thinks probably not enough to need a ride, which makes him all the more curious as to why he’s been summoned for one. 

When he gets there, John is outside, leaning back against his truck in the parking lot. He’s got a cigarette in his mouth, dangling between his lips, with both his hands tucked into his pockets. 

“Hey, Dad,” says Dean. “Ready to go?”

John takes a hand out of his pocket to ash the cigarette. “Let me finish.”

Dean nods, going to stand beside his father. “Haven’t seen you with one of those before.”

“Oh, only you’re allowed the vice?”

Dean’s cheeks heat. He didn’t know John knew about his habit, insomuch as smoking a cigarette he bummed off some bartender every now and then is a habit.

“No, I,” Dean says awkwardly. But he isn’t really sure what he means to say. He smiles a little. “You can do what you want, Dad.”

John doesn’t say anything. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out the cigarette carton, taking out two more. He hands one to Dean. He takes it, pressing the filter into his mouth as John produces a lighter from somewhere Dean doesn’t see. He lights Dean’s cigarette, stamps out the near-finished one he’d been smoking, and then lights himself the second. 

“Don’t tell Sammy,” John says, smiling a little. 

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” agrees Dean, blowing smoke. 

They stand shoulder-to-shoulder in silence at first, smoking their cigarettes, flicking ash onto the dirt below them. John rests his weight against Dean, and Dean soaks up the warmth of him as the night takes a turn for the colder. 

“Kind of thought you’d be going home with someone,” Dean says, anxious to let out the truth. ‘Wasn’t sure I’d see you again tonight.”

“Thought about it,” says John, inhaling. “Been half-hard all night thinking about it, but no one caught my eye.”

Dean wants to keep his eyes on John’s face, wants to be strong enough to act like a normal goddamned son. But he’s weak, weak as sin, and he can’t stop his eyes from looking at John’s groin, trying to catch the outline of his semi-erect cock through his jeans. In his own pants, he feels himself stiffen. 

Beside him, John snorts. “Seems like we both need to get laid.”

Dean’s eyes snap back to John’s face, then slink away back to the row of cars in front of them. He forces himself to take a long drag of his cigarette, coughing a little at the burn that ignites down his throat. He feels sick with love and desire for John. He feels sick with fear and guilt at getting so turned on by the mere physical presence of the man, terrified at what he might do now that John is back and before him. 

“It’s hard,” he chokes out. “It’s hard to get needs met with Sam around.”

They’re being vague enough he figures he’s still safe, ogling of John’s genitals aside.

“You’ve got the Impala,” says John. “I know for a fact her backseat will do in a pinch.” He looks sideways at Dean, exhaling smoke. 

“Lotta girls don’t want to fuck in the car,” Dean says, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

John tosses the cigarette, bringing both hands to Dean’s face. “Then stop trying to fuck those girls.”

Dean’s hands drop to his side in shock. The unfinished cigarette falls from his fingers, so focused he is in the way John’s tongue is working its way into his mouth. 

Dean would be kidding himself if he said he never fantasized about kissing John. But in all the ways he'd played it out, this hadn't been one of them. John making the first move so boldly--in public, no less. He hadn't imagined they'd be smoking, or that he'd be so surprised. Because that's how Dean feels: surprised. John tastes like an ashtray dunked in gasoline, and Dean can't wrap his mind around how hard he's suddenly become.

“Where’s the car?” whispers John against Dean’s lips when he pulls back for air. 

Dean leads his father to where he’d parked the car wordlessly. The bar John had chosen was busy and large, and Dean had only found a spot towards the back, where it was less crowded and poorly lit. Now, he’s grateful for it. For the cover it provides as John pushes his belly against the car and grinds against Dean's ass before reaching into Dean's jacket pocket to grab his keys and unlock the Impala’s back door. He slips into the backseat and looks expectantly at Dean, growling, “Get in.”

Dean follows quickly, shutting the door behind him and sitting beside John just long enough to realize sitting beside his father is hardly the most conducive to doing the things he's got swirling in his head. He moves into John’s lap instead, straddling the older man, bending his neck down to continue kissing him. 

“Touch me,” he says against John’s mouth. 

John’s hands immediately slip under his shirt, rubbing up and down his back. He can’t stand that they’ve never done this face-to-face before. That before tonight, he’s never had John’s lips against his own. 

After a few moments, John’s hands move from under Dean’s shirt to the front of his pants. He pulls away from Dean, instructing him to lean back so John has easier access to the the fasteners on his jeans. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Dean says, breathless, while John works his pants open.

John looks up at him, hands pausing. “You don’t know how bad I want to,” he says. “But we don’t have that kind of time.”

 _What do you mean_ _,_ Dean wants to shout. _We have all night if we want it!_ But he thinks about where they are and what they have in the car and knows this isn’t really how he wants their first time to be. 

“I’m still gonna make you feel good,” John says, freeing Dean’s cock from his underwear as he does. 

“Dad,” keens Dean. John strokes his cock, hard and dripping, twice before he moves on to his own pants. Dean wants to thrust, force contact with his dick again, but he restrains himself and watches as John liberates his own cock from its fabric confines. 

Dean’s mouth waters. He wishes he were in a better position to take John between his lips. He’s never done that before, had a man in his mouth, but he’s been fixated on the idea for years, always getting himself caught up on the way it looks in porn. He tries to imagine how a fully erect cock might feel in his mouth, against his tongue. Against the back of this throat, gagging him.

“You a fucking cockslut, Dean?” says John as he pumps himself. “You get on your knees for any man you could while I was gone?”

“I--” says Dean. Of course, the answer is _no_ , but he wonders if John might like it more if he said something else. He’s always so good at dirty talk with the girls, but here on top of John, his mind goes momentarily blank. 

“Would you like that?” he finally asks. “Would you like to see me get on my knees for men like you?”

Below him, John’s eyes shut. Then he grips Dean alongside his own cock and begins to stroke. The sensation is too much, and Dean stumbles forward so his head falls against John’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, you’re a fucking slut,” says John. “You’d probably fuck any man I told you to.”

Dean’s never really thought about it, but hearing the tone of John’s voice, he thinks he probably would. 

He loses himself after that. He’s overwhelmed by what’s happening, by the sudden direct culmination of years of yearning, years of being groped in the dark under the blankets and without a single word shared between them. Dean can still remember the first time it happened as clear as if it’d been just the day before. The way they’d crowded each other in the single bed, the one and only time they’d booked one out of necessity and not duplicity, because there really weren’t any other double rooms available. 

He can remember that it had been cold, cold enough to send him scooting back towards John, though not quite close enough to touch. Until, of course, John had bridged the gap. 

“It’s fucking freezing,” he’d muttered, sidling up to Dean. Dean had stiffened at first, unsure of what to make of his father so close to him, but he’d relaxed after a while, too appreciative of the warmth. 

Waking up a couple of hours later to the insistent press of his father’s cock against his ass had been another surprise. Dean’s first thought had been to pull away, but then the feeling of it had been so novel that he’d found himself unwilling to abandon it. Instead, he’d been tempted to press back against it. Unsure if John had been awake or asleep, Dean had pressed his luck. He’d felt still in a dream himself, surreally half-asleep, and in pressing back against his father’s erection, he’d gasped. 

Behind him, John had stirred. But instead of pulling away, he’d thrust his hips forward. And Dean had thrust his own hips back.

They had moved in earnest then. John had put one arm under Dean’s head so he could cover his mouth with his hand, while the other gripped his waist. They were awake. Dean knew there was no way either of them could pretend the other was anything but fully aware of what was happening. He could hear John’s uneven breaths as he’d humped against Dean’s back pulling and pushing Dean against him. Dean could feel those uneven breaths echoed in his own erratic breathing as he let himself be manhandled and silenced, as if John couldn’t bear to hear the pleasure he was bringing Dean firsthand.

They had stayed like that until John finished. Immediately after, John had left the bed, changed his underwear, and then slunk back under the covers. Dean, still hard, had been left to take care of himself on his own, which he did in the privacy of the bathroom after John had got back into the bed. In the morning, it had been like nothing had ever happened. They didn’t discuss it, reference it, or repeat it for a good three months. Then, out of the blue, the ritual had begun again. 

Now, here they were years later in Dean’s car, staring each other in the eye as John worked to get them both off. While, over time, John had begun to make sure Dean finished before he slipped away to clean himself up, this is still something wholly different. Dean links his arms behind John’s neck and holds on for dear life as they move against one another. He doesn’t take a single second for granted.

“God, _Dad_ _,_ ” he says, throwing his head back. 

“Anyone could see you like this,” says John. “It’s dark, but if they really wanted they could see you like this through the windows. See what a slut you are.”

Dean isn’t really sure where the words are coming from, but they’re doing the job. He feels like a slut. And like he wants the world to see him for it. To see him be so dirty and desperate for cock he’ll hump his daddy’s leg like a bitch in heat. Let them see him for what he really is. For what he really wants. When he comes, the strength of it takes him by surprise. His body stutters repeatedly, convulsing against John’s torso, cum spilling over John’s hands.

“Let it out,” John murmurs against his neck. “Show me how much you love me.” 

Dean’s eyes water, and he tries to stop it, but he’s too strung out to have much control. He doesn’t cry, not really, but the tell-tale wetness blurs his vision. He keeps his head tucked against John’s shoulder until he’s feeling less out of control, and only then does he raise himself up. He looks down at the mess he’s made of their cocks, noticing that in the midst of his own orgasm, John’s come too. 

John laughs at the expression on Dean’s face. “I won’t take it personally you didn’t notice.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say. His eyes are transfixed by the sight of John’s cock. He could stare at it all night. 

“Up,” says John, tapping Dean’s thigh, and Dean does his best to life himself in the tight space.

John scoots himself against the door, stretching out one leg along the seat, resting the other in the foot well. There’s just enough space for Dean to fit himself between John’s thighs. 

“Put it in your mouth,” he orders.

“Won’t that be too much?” asks Dean. He thinks about the times women have tried to suck him after he’s already come and grimaces. 

“Just don’t go at it too hard. I’ll be all right.”

Dean doesn’t need the request repeated. He kneels as best he can and carefully takes John’s spent cock in his mouth. It’s still semi-hard, though it’s softening fast, and he savors what he can of the remaining heft. He laps at the cum, gently sucking to clear it from John’s skin, only occasionally pressing his tongue to John’s slit. 

It’s intimate, this act. More intimate than what came before, because there isn’t a real goal in mind. He isn’t trying to suck John off. John watches as Dean laves as him, catching Dean’s eyes every so often with a satisfied smile, and Dean relishes knowing his father in this way. 

“Enough,” John says after a few minutes. “It’s getting to be too much.”

Dean pulls off slowly. John has completely softened in his mouth, and he has to resist licking along the tired flesh, even with the order. Once he’s off, John shifts again so he’s sitting along the back of the seat proper, giving Dean room to sit with him. They’re back at the start, sitting side-by-side. 

Dean is still in a daze. So dazed, all he can think to say is, “You never really needed that ride from me, did you.”

John snorts. “Not the kind you were thinking, anyway.”

“Fuck, Dad,” Dean groans, closing his eyes at the pun. Then, “Is it just me, or has this been a long time coming?”

John gives him a look, and Dean knows he’s thinking of another dirty pun. But whatever he’s thinking, he doesn’t say it. Instead, he says, “Figured I owed it to us to do something like that at least once.”

Dean’s euphoria begins to fade. The only reason John is back is because they have a job to do. One that may not see them all coming out of it alive. So he nods at John. What’s unspoken still very much understood. 

Tomorrow, they go back to real life. Tomorrow, they find that fucking demon. Tomorrow, they find a way to end this.

But Dean's never been more grateful for today.


End file.
